


Hell or Highwater

by watermelonascot



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes, Paramore, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, M/M, Patrick is a bad person sorry, Rape, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 10:03:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11780862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watermelonascot/pseuds/watermelonascot
Summary: Patrick is the gripping of hair when he fucks you in the shower. He's bruises that you have to hide under layers of makeup and clothing. He's the thing that pollutes your dreams and lingers at the back of your mind.





	Hell or Highwater

**Author's Note:**

> I had to rewrite this three times to get it to this point. Please pay attention to the tags! This fanfic is based off "Bang the Doldrums" and chronicles an unhealthy relationship between Pete and Patrick.

Pete met Patrick during his freshman year of college at a party. He was buzzed and Pete was high. They fucked in the bathroom and again in the back of Patrick’s car. When it was over, Pete got his number in lipstick on his arm. Call me, Patrick had said. He definitely would.

They were only fuck buddies for a while. Patrick was a good lay, liked choking Pete and making his eyes roll into the back of his skull. He had a huge cock too and wasn't bad at giving head. Pete liked him for other reasons, but those didn't come into play until they officially started a meaningful relationship.

  
He didn't know why he got attached to Patrick so easily. It was probably those stupid hazel puppy dog eyes and that sweet smile he'd shoot him after making him cum three times in a row. Maybe it was his soft words and the gentle touches that came after sex.

  
Patrick liked him just as much. Loved him, in fact. Was the first one to utter those words when they were smoking pot on the roof of his car. Said them again when he fucked him to tears in the passenger seat.

  
Pete loves him back, would kill for him, would die for him. He doesn't know why Patrick hits him or forces him to sleep with him or makes threats. He just wants him to love him.

  
The first time Patrick hurts him is during sex. This was an accident. He's on his knees, lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and fisting what can't fit in his mouth, using his free hand to work a small dildo inside of himself. He has spit dripping down his chin as he moans around his partner.

  
Patrick pulls his hair and grips his throat, making him sputter and gasp around his member. Pete pulls away and chokes. “Patrick, I like choking and all but when I'm blowing you, could you not do that?”

  
“I'm sorry, Pete,” he says. He wipes the spit from his jaw and drops to his level to kiss him. “I thought you'd like that.” He grips the base of the dildo and slowly pushes it inside of Pete, earning a soft yelp. “Want me to eat you out, pretty boy?”

  
“Yeah. Please?”  
  
The next time is not an accident. They're arguing over Pete moving in. Tensions are already high because it's finals week. Pete cries as Patrick berates him and blames him. He screams and tosses a lamp at him, breaking it against one of the walls of his apartment and immediately points a finger to Pete.

  
He slaps him. It takes Pete by surprise, he barely even feels it. He never thought Patrick would hit him. Never seemed like the kind of guy to do that.

  
“Look what you made me fucking do, Peter.”

  
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” He moves to pick up the shattered porcelain, carefully picking up the shards to avoid cutting himself. He's shaking and trying not to cry (and failing horribly because his face is wet).

  
Patrick apologizes this time too and makes it up to him with kisses and gentle sex. Pete forgives him and their arguments don't get as heated for a while.

  
The next few times are different. There's no apologies or make-up involved as quickly as last time, just cold words and frustration. There's bruises, a black eye and aching limbs and a rape kit involved and Pete almost files a case for domestic abuse. He's stopped when Patrick tells him that it'll be bad for both of their reputations and they would force Pete to go inpatient at a mental hospital - gaslighting, as Patrick would describe it, being a well-educated psychology major. He believes every word of it and doesn't say anything to anyone about what happened.

  
Not everyone is oblivious to what happens behind closed doors. William, a cute boy with brown hair and soft doe eyes, tries to butt in. Pete tells him to mind his own business and that they're both fine to no avail. He eventually tells his classmate to fuck off and blocks his number and any form of contact under the watchful eye of Patrick.

  
Today Pete is twenty years old.

He ought to be excited. He's in his second year of college, ranking at 35th in his class so far. His friends are throwing him a huge party off campus at some nice club that doesn’t card downtown and there's going to be a live band. He's probably getting birthday sex and that's supposed to be fun. He wants to be happy, tells them he can't wait.

  
Dread fills him like water in a vase and he's trying not to overflow. Things aren't good. Patrick’s angry at him again. Patrick has a huge temper for such a small guy. He's gnashed teeth and yelling and the rough gripping of hair when he fucks you in the shower. He's bruises that you have to hide under layers of makeup and clothing. He's the thing that pollutes your dreams and lingers at the back of your mind.

  
No, he’s a slice of heaven behind thick-framed glasses and sophisticated button-downs. He's soft touches when he puts bandaids over the cuts and scratches he gave you. He's sweet nothings written in lipstick on your mirror. He's an angel, heaven sent and he ought to be thankful that he chose someone as useless and spineless as him.

  
Pete loves him. Pete hates him. He brings bile to his lips. He doesn't know he doesn't know he doesn't

  
Taylor’s knocking on the bathroom door, unaware of his roommate’s crisis. “Are you almost done, Pete?” he asks. “The limo is almost here.”

  
Warm brown eyes wet with tears widen. “Limo?”

  
“Yeah.” Taylor clears his throat and Pete can hear his weight shift. The floor of their dorm is uneven so every movement makes a sound. “Hayley, William and I helped pay for it. We thought it would be cool for you to arrive in style, let everyone know that it's your night.”

  
“William…” William, who begged him to leave Patrick after he came to a study session with bruises on his neck. Who checked on him when he was hospitalized after his failed suicide attempt. Who cried with and comforted him after Patrick fucked him against his will the first time. William, who stopped talking to him two weeks ago and wouldn't look at him when he defended Patrick and refused to get help. And yet he wished him a happy birthday.

  
He washes his hands, checks his makeup, applies more eyeliner and smudges it when he notices that he didn't cover the bruise completely. “Yeah, I’m ready,” Pete says.

  
With bright pink cropped hair and the reintroduced eye makeup, Pete must be a sight for his friends. When he enters the vehicle, they comment on his outfit and wish him a happy birthday. Hayley’s got matching pink curls and thinks it's funny how it occurred by coincidence. Pete doesn't laugh. He changed his hair because he didn't like recognizing his reflection anymore. Patrick ruined that.

  
The ride is full of chatter, despite his withdrawn behavior. Taylor and Hayley talk about spring break plans, Gabe tells him about some drink called a fireball, Ashley talks about how she's going to sell a bunch of MDMA and he chimes in occasionally to distract them from his dissociated state. It works well.

  
“Where's Travie?” he asks.

  
“He’ll meet us at the club,” Gabe replies. “Said he’s putting something together.” He winks and grins, squeezing Pete’s shoulder lovingly and indirectly putting pressure into a healing bruise. Pete bites his tongue to stop himself from crying out.

  
“That's really nice of him,” Ashley says. “Wonder what he's getting you. Let's hope it's nice!”

  
“Yeah.” Pete doesn't care about material possessions as much anymore. That's the only good thing to come out of this situation with Patrick, it seems.

  
They arrive at 8:45 pm. There's a long line out front but as soon as the bouncer sees Gabe’s smiling face, she's checking them off her list and letting them enter. They're directed to a VIP area complete with champagne on ice, velvet seats and good lighting, unlike the rest of the club.

  
Pete’s phone lights up inside his jacket and he curses to himself when he sees Patrick’s name on the screen. He answers the text anyway because he knows Patrick will know if he's ignoring his messages again. The text reads, “ur in for a treat tonite :)”. Pete feels sick.

  
Sex with Patrick used to be fun for the both of them but now it was self indulgent for the other man and hell for Pete. What used to be caring caresses and gentle words were replaced by bruises from unwanted violence and demeaning insults. He didn't treat him like a person anymore. Pete was a mere plaything for Patrick now, only to be used and controlled and discarded until he was deemed useful.

  
Pete texts back.

1: ur not coming to the club with us?  
2: don't feel like it. be home by 12.  
  
Pete doesn't know if he should be relieved or scared. He's partially upset that Patrick is only thinking of himself on his birthday when he hasn't acknowledged it yet.

  
He doesn't think about that though. He gets drunk on free Jell-O shots and margaritas courtesy of Hayley, who actually is old enough to drink. He enjoys Gabe’s band’s performance and dances with strange men who are likely twice his age. He has fun. Ashley gives him a hit of the weed she snuck in and he relaxes immediately. He gets fucked up because he knows he can't go back to Patrick in a sober state and take what he gives him. He can't he can't he -

  
“Yo, Wentz?” a familiar voice says.

  
It’s Travie, with William behind him. Travie’s curly hair is pulled into a ponytail and he's wearing a grey suit. He looks handsome. Then there's William, wearing dark jeans, a button-down and a black blazer. His mousy hair is cut and under a bowler hat. Pete barely recognizes him.

  
Pete peels himself from the colorful dance floor and dusts glitter off himself. He's a bit disoriented from the banana daiquiri he had, but tries to act like he's still in a logical state of mind.

  
“Oh hey guys!” he says. “How are you tonight.”

  
“Great. How's your birthday going so far?”

  
I’m high and my boyfriend scares me. “Great!” he lies. He sells them a fake smile and they buy it. William lingers in the background, conversing with Ashley and Taylor while Hayley talks up Gabe and his band.

  
“Sure looks like it.” Travie’s pulling him into a hug and Pete feels like passing out in his arms. “Kinda smells like it too. Are you smoking pot?"

  
“Yeah,” he admits. “Ashley gave it to me.”

  
Travie shoots him a knowing look and Pete averts his eyes. He hates watching his friends do drugs after struggling with substance abuse since he was a teenager. Weed isn't as hard of a drug, but based on their location, it can be a gateway.

  
Pete’s had harder stuff. He can handle this.

  
“Well, William got you something,” Travie says, changing the subject and smiling at him. “I got your gift back in my car. I don't wanna ruin it in this environment.”

  
Right on cue, a drunken woman vomits behind them, chunks of vomit landing on the carpet of the bar area. William grimaces and reveals a small box wrapped in yellow paper from his suit jacket. He won't look him in the eye as he passes it over, voice small when he speaks: “It's probably not much compared to what you've gotten so far. Happy birthday.”

  
Pete wants to tell him that he hates him for leaving him, scream at him for showing him compassion and say thank you for the limo and the box. He settles for a “thank you”. “Should I open it?”

  
“Yeah!” Travie says. William nods, hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans.

  
He unwraps the gift and finds it to be a black velvet box. His heart plummets as he opens it and finds a silver ring in the shape of a skull inside. “You...bought this?”

  
“Yeah. I'm sorry if it sucks or it's lame. Isaw that you had a lot plastic rings in the shape of a skull so i thought - ”

  
Pete hugs him tightly, arms shaking as he runs a hand through his dark hair. He has tears running down his face and is sobbing over the loud electronic music of the club. William must be confused but he hugs back, stroking his back and whispering that he's okay and he's sorry for being a shitty friend.

  
Pete wipes his eyes, pulls away and composes himself. “Thank you. I love it. It's perfect.”

  
William smiles and their eyes connect and Pete feels sick. He swallows bile and looks away, blinking back tears. “You want your present now or later?” Travie asks.

  
“Yeah, now is fine.”

  
They pass Hayley and Taylor, who are back in the booth talking about whatever, Ashley is chatting up a girl with a tattoo of a snake on her thigh.

  
Travie unlocks his car and opens the doors to the backseat, pulling out a canvas. Pete can see the colors through the back - yellow, orange, pink. With a huge grin, Travie turns it around. It's a portrait of Pete laughing while sitting on the couch in the student lounge, likely from when they first met based off the state of his hair, dark and straightened. The picture captures his emotions perfectly and is extremely detailed. It's beautiful, it's amazing.

  
“Oh my god, Travie,” he says. “This. This is absolutely gorgeous. I don't know what to say, honestly. I'm really drunk right now but this is great. I love it so much. Thanks!”

  
He hugs Travie, having to stand on his toes because he's so much shorter than the other man. “I'm glad you like it. I've been working on it for three months.”

  
“That's insane.”

  
“Yeah, it was. Took a lot of patience and I ruined several shirts.”

  
William points to his jeans. “Your phone is lighting up.”

  
Patrick. Pete opens the texts immediately, turning away from Travie and William.

  
1: come home :)  
2: ok

  
“I have to go. Thanks for tonight, really. I had fun and appreciated everything. But I have to leave.”

They give Pete a ride to Patrick’s apartment. Pete is silent and clutches the painting in his arms like it might fly out of his hands. William doesn't say anything but he seems desolate and moody. That makes two of them.

Travie is absolutely unaffected by anything. Pete guesses that William didn't tell him about what happened between him and his boyfriend. He's thankful because he knows Travie would have hurt Patrick, possibly even attempted to murder him. They have a close bond resembling that of two brothers.

  
He also wants someone other than William to know about what Patrick does to him. William is a great friend and listens well but Pete still feels alone in his experience. William can't do anything about it and he won't let him. His stomach dives into his shoes as he watches them drive to their own apartment.

  
Patrick’s waiting for him in the dining room. The candles that were once lit are dimmed now, leaving the area dark. He's not dressed up, looks comfortable in dark jeans and a black t-shirt. He looks malicious and handsome. Pete is shaking as he takes off his shoes.

  
“Have fun?”

  
“Y-yes.”

  
Patrick stands from his seat at the table and walks to him. He places a hand on his cheek and strokes the skin, causing goosebumps to raise to the surface. “Yes what?”

  
“Yes sir.” Tonight is going to be one of those nights. He can already feel the bruises forming on his thighs and chest, the ache of his jaw and back. He doesn't feel like it. He doesn't have a choice.  
He grins and kisses him. He tastes like bile to Pete. He feels like he's going to be sick.

“You look nice,” Patrick says. “All dressed up for your birthday. Can't wait to wreck you.”

  
Pete closes his eyes and holds his breath. He doesn't want to do this tonight. Patrick leads him to his bedroom and sits him on the bed. “Are you wearing the underwear I got you?” he asks.

  
Nodding, he shifts awkwardly on the sheets. Patrick unbuttons his shirt and pants, kissing the exposed brown skin lovingly. This isn't romance, this isn't love. Why is he so adamant on pretending it is?

  
His clothes are slid off his body, leaving him only in his boxers Patrick chose for him earlier that day while in his dorm. Patrick’s between his legs, kissing his thighs and stomach and he feels horrible. His throat burns and his stomach is churning. It must be the drugs and alcohol. Fuck, this sucks.

  
Patrick wastes no time pulling his underwear off and fingering Pete until he's hard and whining despite not wanting any of it. “God, you're so good tonight,” he tells him. “Actually responding to my touches. Must have had a good night, huh?"

  
“Y-yes sir.” Pete wishes he'd just shut the fuck up when he fucks him. He doesn't want to hear him speak when he already has to listen to the sound of flesh hitting flesh and his moans. He has a fleeting thought of smothering Patrick with a pillow. 

  
Patrick takes that as consent and doesn't focus on the fact that Pete cries through the whole event. “S-stop,” he gasps. “Don't feel good.”

  
“Shh, it’s okay,” Patrick says into his neck. “You'll feel better in a second.” His movements only grow faster and rougher, yanking at Pete’s hair somehow even as it’s cut pretty short.

  
He yelps and slams his hand against the mattress. “No, Patrick, please,” he begs. “I gotta- “ He's vomiting before he can finish his sentence, puke splashing on the bed’s pillows. His body twists and shakes and Patrick doesn't care at all, finishes using him before pulling out of him carelessly.

  
“That is fucking disgusting,” he hisses. “Right in my bed too.”

  
“I'm so sorry,” Pete said. “I tried to say something but -”

  
Patrick pushes the side of his face into the mess. “This was supposed to be a good night and you ruined it by getting sick.” Patrick leaves him on the bed and mutters a venomous ‘happy birthday’ as he goes to clean himself off.

  
You ruined my life, Pete thinks to himself as he lays there, covered in his own waste like a scared little kid. But that doesn't matter, does it?

  
Patrick makes Pete get off the bed and instructs him to clean himself up while he changes the bed sheets. He showers emotionlessly and comes back to bed to see the other man sleeping on its freshly-made sheets. He looks at his gentle expression as he slumbers and wonders how he fucked up bad enough to deserve such a tumultuous relationship. He's had a lot of time to think while showering and thinks he deserves better, or at least doesn't deserve to be treated the way Patrick treated him.

  
The clock reads 2:34 am in neon green numbers. Too late to call anyone to pick him up. Too far to walk back to the campus, too cold, too dangerous.

  
He leaves the way Patrick came into his life, writes a note in lipstick on one of his arms (sorry things had to end this way). What a shame. They had some good memories too, but the bad outweighed those too much for Pete to care. He decided to call it quits. Then he's getting dressed and taking a few bills from him to pay for a taxi.

He looks around the apartment and realizes that this is the last time he's coming back to this godforsaken place. He feels relieved and knows that this is the right choice. 


End file.
